


The Infrequent Gendermorph

by sk8rpssockpup (MissIzzy)



Series: The Gendermorphs [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Community: hockeyanonmeme, F/M, Genderbending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-07
Updated: 2011-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-29 07:19:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissIzzy/pseuds/sk8rpssockpup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick isn't even used to this, and it's taking hir too long to change back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Infrequent Gendermorph

**Author's Note:**

> Written December 2010/January 2011(and takes place that December, during Kaner's actual injury), in response to a hockeyanonmeme prompt: "Patrick Kane becomes a girl randomly and has trouble coping with his new body. Someone on the team convinces him he has to masturbate to change back. It doesn't work. Patrick is unable to change back until he has sex. Lots of it. Also, Jonathan Toews discovers his love of going down on chicks. Yeah idk either." Originally posted in installments to that community as "The Gendermorph," then cleaned up and posted as a single work elsewhere that May in anticipation of a sequel.

Patrick Kane knew that s/he was lucky. If s/he’d been born as little as three hundred years ago, for instance, s/he probably would have been murdered by hir own parents back when s/he’d first switched out at the age of five. Instead when s/he’d gone to hir mother to announce hir penis was gone they’d taken hir to the doctor just to confirm it, and hir parents had braced themselves for the possibility; it ran in hir mother’s side of the family. He’d even then been able to grow up with an idol like Wayne Gretzky to look at to see how far a gendermorph could go in life. He didn’t even change that much; this was only the third time in hir life, and the first since very early adolescence.  
  
All the same, it had been nearly two weeks, and s/he really wanted hir male body back.  
  
The injury was the most likely explanation, the doctors told hir; especially since s/he had changed within hours of getting it; hardly an unknown phenomenon, s/he’d been repeatedly told. Except that even injuries generally didn’t slow the transformation cycle to more than a week. But all they said about that was that perfectly healthy gendermorphs could sometimes spend longer in alternate form; a couple cases of a month-long cycle had been documented. As far as anyone knew, they assured hir, noone had ever gotten stuck in alternate form permanently.  
  
But an unfamiliar body was a bitch when s/he was trying to get back onto the ice. Tazer had urged hir to wait the full three weeks, saying s/he’d probably change back by then anyway, but he must have known already Patrick wouldn’t listen to him. Especially since it was getting harder to ward off the fears that s/he wasn’t going to change back, that something had gone seriously wrong, and was s/he going to end up becoming the NHL’s first permanently female player?   
  
Saturday when s/he wasn’t even able to finish practice s/he decided it was time for a trip to Rockford. S/he didn’t plan on telling Tazer this, but he figured it out anyway, and insisted on driving hir, as if s/he was helpless, which really pissed hir off. Why couldn’t coach have kept Morin in Chicago a few more days, anyway, long enough for Patrick to swallow hir pride and ask advice from the other gendermorph on the team? It was going to be weird as it was, getting sage old advice from the rookie.

But Morin was old hat at switching out; did so every few months and then had always changed back within 36 hours, so maybe he wouldn’t be so good at advising on the whole prolonged cycle thing, though he was known to be an expert at playing while female. So Patrick started by asking questions about that, about handling the stick with smaller hands and not falling on one’s ass despite the changed center of gravity and dealing with the practical and psychological effects of being the physically weakest person on the ice. Then they went to hir current dilemma, and Patrick was extremely glad Johnny had agreed to wait in the car because the first thing Morin said was, “You know that old tale your mother told you? That jerking off made you change?”  
  
“Yeah,” s/he said, trying to keep the memories suppressed. He’d only recently discovered masturbation last time he’d switched out. The trauma of those four days as a girl had been enough to make him keep his hands off his junk for a whole week after he’d changed back. Even though s/he’d been so young then, s/he’d had a vague idea girls didn’t masturbate, and so hadn’t while changed; hadn’t really felt like it anyway, what with the horrors that both being at school and being at the rink while female had perpatrated. The first night s/he’d poked around at hir genitals and nascent breasts and hips, but that was all.  
  
“Well, I don’t know if it really makes you switch out, but I think it might make you change back. Or if you have enough orgasms. I, uh, I, um don’t mean to intrude but have you, um, in female form...”  
  
“No.” S/he’d tried this time, fingered hirself until s/he was sore, but it hadn’t happened, and s/he’d finally given up in frustration. It had driven hir so crazy that s/he actually then asked, “How the hell do you do it?”  
  
Morin hesitated; he hadn’t been that ready for that. But then he started, “Okay, just to be sure, you do know what the clitoris is?”  
  
“Um...” It had been on that diagram of female anatomy Patrick had been asked to review hir genitals against just to make sure the switch had been thorough; that was something you apparently were supposed to do if it had been more than five years since your last cycle. S/he had a vague idea it was important, too, and it had ached a lot during hir masturbation attempts. “Kind of?”  
  
That must have been the wrong answer, because Morin promptly facepalmed. “Oh God, you don’t. How many times have you even rolled over in your life? Okay, we’re going to have to start with the basics.”  
  
The following ten minutes were at least a little traumatic for them both. Though near the end of it Morin got over his embarrasment long enough to grin and say, “Just remember, the female orgasm is not something to be missed out on. Trust me on that. There’s even a Ancient Greek myth about it, where this gendermorph, Tiresias, he went before the gods and and the queen of the gods said to him ‘Say men enjoy sex more or I’ll blind you,’ be he was honest and said no, girls have lots more fun when they come and got blinded. And then got the ability to tell the future but that’s another story.”  
  
Patrick didn’t know who enjoyed sex more firsthand, but s/he had already noticed that contrary to what s/he’d believed in the past, women actually got aroused much more easily.  With nothing to form an erection with it wasn’t as noticable, but this conversation with Morin, which s/he didn’t think would’ve done much for hir as a man, had managed to trigger the sharpest case of sexual arousal s/he’d had in female form, clit throbbing like it was trying to form a proper erection(thinking of it as a “vestigial dick” explained a lot, actually). There went that new pair of undies. S/he asked for a glass of cold water before saying goodbye, and Morin looked sympathetic as he handed it over.  
  
Cold water, and a few deep breaths as s/he walked back to the car, but the thoughts were still flying through hir head, nipples feeling the cold air even through hir coat, heat swirling about the loins. The drive home looked very long.  
  
“So,” Johnny said as he climbed in, “did he give you any ideas? Or do I not want to know?”  
  
“You don’t want to know,” said Patrick immediately; even s/he had some notion of TMI, as least at the moment.  S/he had no fucking idea how, but somehow s/he ended up staring at Johnny’s hands as they settled on the steering wheel. Knuckles bending, long, thick fingers curling. S/he brought hir gaze up to his face. He was grinning slightly.  
  
Patrick's own fingers curled around the armrest, as between hir legs, the feeling of heat spiked hard.  
  
***  
  
Later that afternoon Patrick was sprawled on hir bed, panting like s/he’d played a straight half hour, pants pulled down, shirt pulled up and bra long gone, wondering if s/he wanted to try for three. The female orgasm took a while to trigger, but it was fucking worth it.  
  
One thing was disturbing hir at the moment, though. The first orgasm actually hadn’t been that much more intense than what s/he was used to, though it was nice to have it last a little longer. But then, since s/he’d been aware s/he could do it again a lot more easily than normal, s/he started up again a couple of minutes later, and then found hir thoughts straying to unsettling places. Like Duncs’ thigh, and hir memory of it flexing back and forth when they’d worked out together about a month ago. Or how hir various teammates looked when wearing towels. Or a pair of lips from a face he’d gotten shoved up against earlier that fall-s/he couldn’t even remember whose, Crosby's, maybe-that s/he doubted he’d noticed anything about at the time, but suddenly in hir memory they were vivid; s/he could picture them swollen, pressed up against hir clit, add a tongue...  
  
A thousand almost random images, and then a few not so random ones, because of course eventually s/he’d found hirself thinking about Johnny’s fingers on that steering wheel. And then about Johnny’s mouth, remembering him sticking out his tongue-God, that tongue, what might it feel like? And of course Patrick had seen his dick, and it was frighteningly easy to imagine what it would look like hard and swollen, thinking about it pushing in, into hir fucking body, and oh fucking shit there’d been flashing lights behind hir eyes, and the sheets had gotten all tangled as s/he’d thrashed all over the bed, it had felt like hir groin was  _melting_ , legs seizing up it had felt so fucking good, mouth shoved into the pillow to muffle cries s/he hadn’t been able to help. Even thinking about it now s/he moaned softly. It had been five minutes and s/he was still throbbing hard.  
  
S/he was still lying there, muscles a bit limp, when s/he heard the door to the condo opening and closing. Johnny, no doubt; since s/he’d switched out, he’d spent more time at Patrick’s place than at his own. Which normally Patrick didn’t mind at all, but when s/he’d just come like a fucking freight train while thinking about Johnny fucking hir, the last person s/he wanted to see was him.  
  
So naturally Johnny was so distracted he opened the bedroom door without knocking first and Patrick got a “Hey, Kaner, I...” and a look at Tazer flushing like a schoolgirl before the door slammed shut, and even in that scenario the sight of him still made Patrick flush too(though at least he didn’t think his friend stayed there long enough to notice), or maybe it was that he definitely took that split second to check out hir breasts. Fuck, were either of them going to be able to look at each other in the same way again when this was over?  
  
“I’ll be out in a minute,” s/he called weakly, and stumbled to his bathroom for more cold water.  
  
It was actually more like five minutes, more really, by which time Tazer had recovered himself and turned on the TV as a needed distraction. Which worked for both of them, as they sat on the couch together, except that as the evening wore on, Patrick was pretty sure it was not hir imagination that Tazer’s eyes were continually straying to hir breasts and legs. At one point s/he even caught his lips worming against each other(and what thoughts that provoked), as if he was trying to resist the urge to lick them(and that thought, too).  
  
Since the first masturbation session, however, hadn’t seemed to do anything towards changing Patrick back, after Johnny went home s/he stretched hirself out on the couch, breathing in the smell of him left over-he’d been sweating a hell of a lot-pulled down hir pants, and lazily ran hir hands up her thighs, and found hirself groaning already.  
  
***  
  
S/he had seriously hoped to change back overnight, but no such luck. The only thing to do the next morning, obviously, was masturbate again, and hir clit was starting to feel sore(s/he hadn’t even known that was possible), but s/he was actually starting to get the hang of it; s/he spent a prolonged amount of time teasing hirself, tracing hir fingers round and round her stomach and butt, lightly, so lightly, in a way s/he’d never thought to with the girls s/he’d fucked, then closer, closer, until s/he was feeling open and needy and when s/he finally got down to business it didn’t take long at all.  
  
The ankle was no longer in any condition for skating; the game that night definitely wasn’t happening, and as s/he gritted hir teeth around hir kitchen that morning, s/he found hirself doubting Wednesday too. Which was maybe a little bit of a relief, because when s/he’d had sexual fantasies of about half the team the previous day, it was easier to be in the same room with them again without being on the ice with them too. In fact, it worked out pretty well, in that by the time s/he’d spent an hour in the stands, mostly thinking about them in a more normal way, s/he no longer felt uncomfortable about that at all.  
  
Except around Johnny. Because the thing was with the others s/he could stop noticing things, s/he could stop thinking about the possibility of having sex with them, and for some reason with Johnny s/he just _couldn’t_. Like when he got off the ice all sweaty and s/he could see his nose and forehead glistening with it, and then the smell reached hir and something dropped out of hir stomach. S/he’d already been going freely in and out of the dressing room, but when s/he went in that day the first thing s/he saw was Johnny, shirt off and hair wet, wet, wet, and looked away, hir face red, ignoring his confused, “What?” Not good when they were sharing a ride out of there.  
  
Hey,” said Johnny when they were climbing into the car, not looking at each other, “word is Ovechkin switched out again.”  
  
“Whatever,” said Patrick, “s/he’ll probably switch back before the Caps play tonight.” Alex Ovechkin, one of the two great rival gendermorph captains that helped keep attention off people like hirself and Morin, had the fastest and frequentest cycles known to man. “D’you think it’s true, that he and Crosby like to fuck whenever one of them’s switched?”  
  
Johnny shook his head. “I don’t see how they could manage it, especially with how fast Ovie rolls over. More likely s/he goes and fucks who knows who and hopes s/he doesn’t switch back mid-act-hey, Pat? You okay?”   
  
He must have seen it as the idea hit Patrick. “Yeah,” s/he said, “but I think I’ve got another idea for changing back. Morin actually told me it helps to masturbate, but maybe I should get laid?”  
  
Both turned absolutely red as the same thought occurred to both of them at once. “I mean,” Patrick hastily continued, “I could just go out and pick some guy up. In fact, I think I will.”  
  
That was when Johnny turned stiff, and looked away, as he said, “If you really think that’s a good idea.”  
  
“You’re fucking jealous!” It was out of Patrick’s mouth before s/he could stop it.  
  
“I’m not!” He squeaked, but it was fucking hopeless, and he knew it. “Look,” he said a moment later, “that would be a really fucking bad idea, and we both know that. All right, just make sure you use protection.” 

“I can’t get pregnant,” Patrick reminded him. S/he'd asked the doctor about it, and been told all gendermorphs were infertile in alternate form.  
  
Rolling his eyes, Johnny retorted, “I meant use it for the guy’s protection, Kaner.”  
  
***  
  
The thing was, Patrick knew how to pick up girls. S/he didn’t know how to pick up guys. In fact, for the first time, s/he found hirself thinking it was kind of unfair that girls were generally expected to just hang around and wait for the stupid guys to pick up them. When s/he went to the bar that night after the game(and it was a good thing they’d won, or s/he would have been in a very bad mood by the end of the evening), s/he tried anyway, but s/he didn’t know what to say to them. Somehow telling them s/he was on the hockey team didn’t seem like a good idea.  
  
In the end s/he was reduced to hanging around hoping some guy would get the hint. S/he didn’t get why none of them did; s/he wasn’t blind; s/he knew s/he was fucking hot as a girl. But nonetheless s/he finally left the bar wondering if maybe a lesbian encounter should be attempted; but s/he didn’t even know where to  _find_  those types of girls.  
  
Hir first thought was to just go home, masturbate yet again, and hope this time it worked. But by the time s/he was getting into a cab that plan had decidedly morphed, and instead of hir own door s/he shortly found hirself in front of Johnny’s, banging on it hard. He answered in only his sweats. All the better.  
  
“I want you,” s/he said. “You want me. And I know you want me, and well, if you didn’t know I want you, now you do. So we have to live with that after this is over no matter what. And if we have to deal with all that shit anyway...well, I just struck out and I need to fuck  _someone_.”  If nothing else, s/he reminded hirself, he'd do whatever he could to help hir switch back simply for the good of the team.  
  
When he just stood there open-mouthed, s/he stepped in, closed the door behind hir, and started to undress. “Just one thing,” s/he added. “I’m pretty sure I can’t come from penetration alone. So I hope you know how to do something else.”  
  
“Oh yeah?” S/he’d really had no idea how Johnny was going to react to the implied insult, but this sudden predatory looming over hir was a shock. A strangely appealing shock. S/he let her jeans drop and was now only in hir underwear, and he was looking at hir bra like he might tear it off with his teeth. S/he felt that now familiar flare of arousal in hir loins, and took a step forward.  
  
A moment later s/he was crushed against his body, his mouth, tongue wrestling with hirs and one hand on hir butt, pulling hir into his groin and that hot, hard bulge in his sweats. And oh shit, this shouldn’t turn hir on this much, just feeling his cock and knowing that was going to be in hir, but s/he could feel hir cunt getting wet and hot, wanting it so badly.  
  
“Not fucking here,” Johnny muttered into their mouths, and they stumbled and dragged themselves to his bedroom. Somewhere in the process hir underwear and his sweats and boxers came off, and he all but threw hir down onto the bed butt naked, then climbed on top of hir and claimed hir mouth in another toe-curling kiss. Before she could even breath he’d moved down to hir breasts and oh god, and s/he’d thought hir hands on them had felt good. He was sucking and biting hir breasts and belly like he’d been thinking about doing it these entire two weeks, and it was hot, unbelievably hot to have him like this, so out of control and wild, and that was before that mouth and tongue of his attacked hir clit.  
  
Morin had told her this was really something girls wanted very badly, and s/he’d heard something like that before, and now s/he knew why. Johnny wasn’t even using any precision, was too fast and clumsy and pressing almost too hard, and s/he was still losing her mind just from the heat of his tongue, grabbing his head and shoving hir hips against him, bucking and thrusting with a roughness even the most compliant of puck bunnies wouldn’t have tolerated had s/he still had a cock, but Johnny just moaned against hir clit like he liked it, and shoved a finger into hir. It was bigger than hirs, but s/he somehow felt like it wasn’t enough.   
  
Remembering what Morin had told hir, s/he gasped out, “Crook your finger up...no, a little-oh fuck yeah, just like that,” and s/he was moaning like crazy as he pulverized her with fingers and tongue, like s/he’d been waiting the entire two weeks for this too; maybe they both had. When s/he came, hir legs locked around Johnny’s head to hold him in place, and it just went on and on, longer than s/he’d had the patience for earlier, fucking hirself out on that hot, wet mouth.  
  
“Condoms,” Johnny grunted when s/he went limp and he was able to pull free. It was his place, so s/he could just lay there and let him go to wherever in the bathroom he put them, though s/he did find the energy to open hir eyes and admire his ass as he went. S/he’d closed them again before s/he heard his footsteps returning, and reopened them when she felt the bed sag with his weight and heard his frantic breathing. Their eyes met, and the naked hunger in his, this side of him he’d never let hir see before this, sent hir reaching up with a “Come here, handsome,” and arching hir body up to welcome him in.  
  
S/he’d forgotten Morin’s warning about the thoroughness with which the morphing process restored all parts of the female anatomy, including the hymen. And Johnny just shoved in, but at hir pained yelp he hastily stopped halfway, almost comically frozen in place with one hand on hir elbow and the other on hir knee. “It’s fine,” s/he whimpered. “Just slower.” He pushed a little more; s/he put hir hands on his arms to slow him down further, squeaking out, “Sorry,” because s/he knew it had to be killing him.  
  
Then he was fully inside her, and he was big, bigger than s/he’d fantasized about, filling hir and stretching hir in a way s/he couldn’t say s/he actually disliked, and s/he whispered, “It’s okay, you can move.”  
  
A few thrusts and the pain had dissolved away, and when Johnny picked up the pace Patrick moaned again; s/he wasn’t going to come again from this, but it still felt good. He pressed his mouth back down to hirs for a messy open-mouthed kiss, moaning back into her mouth, and as s/he pulled back to stare into his pleasure-twisted face s/he was overcome with a new awareness.  _This is Tazer; his naked body is on top of mine, his tongue was just in my mouth after making me come, his fucking dick is inside me, and I like it._  
  
“Johnny...” s/he gasped as s/he felt him grow tense and close under hir hands. “Tazer...Johnny...”  
  
“Patrick,” he moaned back. “Patrick, fuck, Pat...” He was coming; s/he could tell. He was coming moaning hir name, and shit, they really were going to be in trouble, and s/he didn’t feel the least bit sorry.  
  
***  
  
When Patrick Kane woke the next morning, s/he was sore in places that hadn’t existed two weeks ago, hir ankle was giving hir hell, one of hir arms had been smushed under Tazer all night and was now all tingly, and s/he was  _still_  female.  
  
But when s/he looked at the clock s/he noticed they didn’t have to get up for awhile, so they might as well make the most of it.   
  
Tazer blinked in confusion as s/he tossed the blanket off of him, and s/he leaned down so he could get a clear view of hir breasts, and that they were still there. Though at the moment s/he was more interested in his body. S/he’d spent the last night being ravished, now s/he very strongly felt it was hir turn.  
  
“Pat...” Johnny started as s/he leaned down to lick at his neck and shoulders, but then hir hand found a nipple and pinched, and he moaned.   
  
“Let me,” s/he whispered, letting hir hands wander further down, towards his morning erection. “Let me touch you.”  
  
S/he reached it and he gave in, arching into hir mouth as s/he moved it down his chest, thrilling at both the hard muscle s/he felt under hir tongue and the noises he made when s/he licked them. S/he had him straining underneath hir, and shit, s/he was getting wet just from listening to him trying not to lose it, breasts feeling heavy as s/he teasingly brushed them against his skin, against the hair on his treasure trail, which sent electric shocks down to between hir own legs, leaving hir torn between keeping both hir hands on Johnny’s body or moving to give hirself some relief. In the end, though, s/he had to keep a hold of him, because he was squirming like crazy, especially after s/he reached his navel, and below.  
  
It was around the time s/he was looking down at his dick and thinking s/he wanted it in hir mouth that it briefly occurred to Patrick that this was different from what had happened last night, focusing on parts Johnny had already had before the whole switching out thing. S/he couldn’t quite put hir finger on it, but it felt like crossing a new line. However, it seemed too late to go fussing about it now, and s/he had to figure out how to do this without accidentally biting. Wrap a hand around the base, s/he told hirself, and just go down.  
  
There was pleasure in this, in the feel and taste of it, and definitely in the gasps s/he was getting out of Johnny. S/he recalled a night in LA the previous season and a chick who’d smirked at him with the knowledge that he would never ever ever get a better blowjob than the one she gave, tried to remember what it was exactly she’d done with her tongue on the head and imitate it, and wow Johnny was sputtering things in French, and then he was pushing Patrick’s head away and it was only by quick reflexes that the s/he avoided getting it in the face, flinching away so it landed on hir ear instead, which made hir wonder how something could be both so gross and so hot.  
  
Speaking of hot, s/he was the one squirming now, the need between hir legs reaching a boiling point, by the time Johnny tackled hir onto the bed and bruised hir lips with his kisses before leaning over to lick his own come off hir ear, and that was it, s/he was shoving a hand down to hir own crotch, unable to stand it any longer, only to howl in frustration as he grabbed it and shoved it against hir stomach. “I want to eat your pussy again,” he said into hir ear, and s/he was moaning wildly just hearing him say that in that heavy tone, trying not to beg him, even as he started kissing his way down hir breasts.  
  
***  
  
By the time practice was over that day, Patrick, who still couldn’t skate anyway, had been spending half of it arguing with hirself on why s/he shouldn’t flee the building early, because s/he was getting sick of everyone reminding hir the Caps had broken their losing streak with Ovechkin still switched out. Apparently this was supposed to be encouraging. Only it wasn’t really, because s/he was still injured.  
  
At least they themselves had also won, and that was something they weren’t doing nearly enough of these days, and seemed to have given a lift to Tazer’s mood that not even his likely fretting over their having sex could dampen. It had probably helped everyone else’s moods too; lots of smiling and quite a few laughs.  
  
Tazer’s smile lasted all the way to the gym, where the two of them worked out together, at least as much as Patrick could do. When s/he had first switched out, s/he would always remember how puny hir arms had felt, as if s/he hadn’t been able to lift anything. Now at last s/he was starting to feel like that was getting remedied, though how much arm strength it would translate too once s/he was back in male form Patrick didn’t know; the doctors s/he’d seen so far hadn’t known enough about longer cycles.  
  
Except something within the past day or so had shifted in Patrick. S/he still would have preferred to be male again; that hadn’t changed. But s/he didn’t know if it had been from how awesome sex with Johnny had turned out to be, or just from starting to believe s/he could play while female if s/he had to, but s/he no longer felt as if s/he  _had_  to change back by any certain date; they could hold down the fort indefinitely like this.  
  
When they stepped outside, s/he nearly collided with a six foot tall babe in scary heels about eight inches high, and they both went skidding back, two weeks with hir new body insufficient for Patrick to keep hir balance; s/he toppled over right into Johnny’s arms. They tightened around hir automatically, which felt nice.  
  
The woman somehow stayed on those heels, and was even able to put her hands on her hips, and yell, “Hey, bitch, watch where you’re going!”  
  
Patrick was just thinking about how different things would be if s/he been a guy, when Johnny snickered in his ear, “Well, Kaner, some things don’t change much, eh?”  
  
Patrick would argue with his implication, but it was true that a lot of things hadn’t changed. S/he still retorted something along the lines of objecting to that remark, Tazer just laughed and spoke as if he knew he was right, and the two of them careened together into Patrick’s hummer(at least s/he was driving again today), though the urge to put hir hand on Johnny’s knee as they landed in their seats was new. They were both of them grinning now.  
  
“Your place,” said Johnny. “I haven’t had time to put my sheets in the laundry yet.”   
  
He spoke pointedly enough for Patrick to realize why that was a problem. “Aw,” s/he said, “you don’t appreciate my virgin’s blood?” S/he suspected when next s/he went through this, when s/he was thirty or whatever, s/he’d find having to break hir hymen again annoying, but for this time it felt kind of appropriate.  
  
“Gross,” said Johnny flatly.  
  
They ended up napping together on Patrick’s bed, sprawled out against each other like a couple of kids. This actually wasn’t the first time they’d done such a thing; it had happened a number of times on the road, and even once or twice at home, though two days ago Patrick definitely wouldn’t have felt comfortable with it.   
  
That evening while Patrick called home Johnny cooked pasta for both of them. After dinner they broke out  _Call of Duty._  
  
It was getting late when Johnny asked Patrick about hir ankle. “I don’t know,” said Patrick. “At points I think I should be fine for Wednesday, at points...”  
  
“Let me see.” Patrick took off hir sneaker and sock(one of hir normal socks, so it looked kind of silly, but had felt like a comfort), and rolled up hir pantleg. Johnny was carefully, of course, running his fingers along the injured ankle, gently stroking warmth across the sensitive skin. “Does that hurt?” he asked softly.  
  
“Not any more than usual,” Patrick tried to keep hir voice from getting too breathy, but it wasn’t working. On hearing it, Tazer got a wicked gleam in his eye.  
  
“Would you be terribly insulted,” he murmured, “if I thought it prudent to carry you to your bed? Just to give the ankle a little bit of extra rest, of course.”  
  
He was already leaning over to grasp Patrick’s body, and s/he couldn’t say the idea of being lifted by those strong arms didn’t give hir a thrill. “Maybe a little,” s/he cooed, “but you could make it up to me very easily...”  
  
***  
  
Tuesday night found Patrick sprawled across hir bed again, trying to remember how to move. Or breath. S/he was still shaking with the aftershocks of the most mind-blowing orgasm s/he’d ever had. Like, scoring the Stanley Cup winner in overtime mind-blowing, which before that night s/he would’ve sworn was impossible.  
  
The only problem was that being fucked was about to be a letdown, but when s/he became aware of hir surroundings again s/he thought it odd s/he hadn’t even heard the rustle of Johnny putting on a condom. “Johnny?” s/he panted. “What...?”  
  
S/he managed to bring hir eyes up, and saw him just staring down at hir. “I’ve never made a woman scream before,” he said, sounding as winded as s/he still felt. “Not even near.”  
  
Hir gasps gave way to helpless laughter. “Well, of course not,” s/he finally managed to retort weakly. “Two nights ago you didn’t even know how to finger me properly.” S/he didn’t mention s/he hadn’t known how to finger a girl either, before Morin had told hir. S/he hadn’t known a lot. “Your next puck bunny is going to owe me a thank you note.”  
  
S/he had said it without thinking, but it was a reminder that hit them at the same time, that this would only be temporary, that sooner or later, s/he’d switch back, and they’d probably stop, and suddenly Patrick found hirself thinking s/he didn’t want to stop, and s/he couldn’t swear s/he’d feel differently when s/he was a guy again.  
  
And normally Patrick wasn’t very good at this type of thing, but s/he knew Johnny, and s/he knew when his face twitched liked that, it was because he’d just had something brought to mind to make him unhappy. S/he really didn’t like it when that happened.  
  
"Tazer...” s/he started again.  
  
Then suddenly his mouth was back on hirs, ferocious and hot and hard, at the same time his hands found hir hair and his fingers wound around it with a startling tenderness. His body over hirs was heavy and solid, and the smell of him flooded what was left of hir senses, and then s/he pressed hir hands to his back and found that beneath them, s/he could unexpectedly hear the hard thrumming of his heart.  
  
An ache was forming in the pit of hir stomach, an almost unbearable need, and s/he broke from him to fumble for a condom. Between the two of them they couldn’t get it on him fast enough. And s/he’d thought s/he’d get used to this, this feeling of his flesh filling her, Johnny’s forceful thrusts shoving hir up into the pillows, but tonight it was all too much, the heat and the pleasure and just  _him, there_  and so close and s/he still wanted s/he didn’t even know what the fuck what, just more, and when he came hard, so hard s/he could feel his whole body seize up with it, s/he moaned in frustration, because s/he didn’t want it to end yet.  
  
At hir desperate, “More, please...” Johnny let out a half-exasperated noise, and replaced his dick with his fingers. S/he held out as long as s/he could, arms locked on his back to hold him close, but the last two days had already made him an expert at this, and it felt like no time at all before hir body was dissolving into white-hot pleasure and s/he didn’t scream again but s/he felt like s/he could have.  
  
Even after s/he came down s/he felt a little loopy. Johnny was obviously wiped out; he collapsed next to hir, and s/he knew s/he should just let him sleep; that would be all s/he would have wanted after coming that hard while being male. But hir body wasn’t as tired, which left hir wanting more touching-not more sex, just more physical contact.   
  
He was on his back, and s/he was loath to move him. But s/he found herself moving on top of him, resting hir head on his chest, feeling it rise and fall as his heart and breathing steadied.  
  
S/he’d never felt anything like this closeness before with anyone, never been interested in it. In fact, s/he didn’t think many of the girls s/he’d slept with had seemed that interested in it either; maybe one or two of the more mushy ones.  
  
But anyway, s/he couldn’t sleep comfortably like this. So s/he’d have to move away. Fairly soon, because Johnny was breathing so evenly he had to be asleep already, and it was getting late.  
  
Soon. But not right now. Right now s/he could stay right here, thank you very much, where it was nice and warm and peaceful.  
  
***  
  
Wednesday night Patrick still wasn’t able to play, but at least hir ankle was showing signs of improving once again. Once again they won, but Johnny wasn’t entirely happy when Patrick first saw him after the game, muttering under his breath before stopping to grin quickly as hir, and then again after, and Patrick almost wished s/he wasn’t planning to be back on the ice for the next practice, because s/he had the feeling it was going to be one of  _those_  ones.  
  
Still, eventually a late dinner with a couple of the others cheered him up enough, especially when it ended with the two of them finally alone together, stumbling together through the night’s chill, his hands hot on hir hips and his eyes full of the promise of what he was going to do to hir in one drive’s time. His tongue poked out of his mouth slightly and Patrick hirself grow hot thinking about where that tongue was likely end up.  
  
In the car s/he grabbed his head and shoved hir tongue into his mouth, and he kissed back hungrily for a minute before pushing away, laughing “Let me drive, okay?” He was short of breath already.  
  
As he put the car in drive and they sped down the street not fast enough for Patrick’s liking, Patrick hirself fell back into hir own seat, whole body itching like crazy. Hir breasts were getting that feeling of heaviness, clit was swelling up...  
  
...and swelling...and...oh.  
  
S/he recognized it even though s/he felt it only twice before: the feeling in hir breasts becoming a squeezing sensation as they shrunk, hips as they grew narrow, the rest of hir body beginning to broaden, bones and muscles expanding and s/he had to reach down and undo hir fly. “Johnny.” Hir voice was deepening. “I’m changing back.”  
  
“Here?! Now?!” He stopped the car in the middle of the road to look hir over; the expansion of hir face and torso was starting to become visible, even under hir heavy men’s coat. “Fucking shit!”  
  
Behind them three cars honked, and Johnny took the hint and started driving again. “I thought you were supposed to change in your sleep!”  
  
“Change most often happens while the body is at rest,” Patrick remembered reading somewhere out loud, “though it is far from unknown otherwise.” But this just wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t this have happened somewhere s/he could change clothes immediately?  
  
In fact, why couldn’t it have waited until after s/he and Johnny had enjoyed what they’d been planning for, at least this night?  
  
By the time they were pulling up to Patrick’s building, he was sure the shirt he was wearing was ripped, and his pants had become unwearable. Johnny took off his own coat for Patrick to wear over his (too tight) underwear, which meant when they stepped out of the car, both had half their bodies unprotected from the brutal cold. The icy air sliced into Patrick’s pumped-up flesh, his newly regrown cock and balls shriveled in the thin panties, the chill of the pavement cut through his socks because he’d had to take his shoes off too, and he and Johnny ran as fast as their legs could carry them. It was good to have his power and speed back, but he didn’t know how he avoided stumbling or dropping his own coat and pants and shoes, the way his limbs lurched, unused to being this long and thick.   
  
Mercifully they got into Patrick’s condo without getting injured, running into anyone, or freezing to death, though Patrick’s toes were so cold they ached. He was glad he’d left the heat up.  
  
His clothes were still uncomfortable, and without thinking he shed the coat and pulled the shirt off, reduced to his socks and panties. He was just thinking about taking those off too when he heard that sharp breath from Johnny he’d become intimately familiar with these past three days.  
  
He looked up, and realized Johnny was staring at him. Eyes roving up and down, lingering on thighs and hips. Hungry eyes, and his own fell to his friend’s pants. His dick couldn’t respond that quickly after that run through the cold, but it was starting to move; Patrick could see the telltale movement of fabric.  
  
He wanted very badly to drop to his knees, pull Johnny’s pants open, and take it into his mouth. Just one last time.  
  
Which at least kind of sort of made sense, unlike the way Johnny was looking at the very male body he’d had nothing to do with in the past as if he was lusting after it as much as he had Patrick’s alternate female body. Fuck, it was too late at night and Patrick was too tired after the transformation and too confused, and he should just go to sleep and forget about it until the next morning, but even he knew they just couldn’t leave this issue without dealing with it somehow.  
  
It was Tazer who found a solution, at least for the moment, by finally smirking at Patrick and saying, “In seven to eight more years?”  
  
It was something Patrick himself should have said, but he fell in easily, blowing him a kiss and saying, “Absolutely, baby,” and picking up John's coat and tossing it to him with perfect timing.  
  
“Looking forward to it,” Johnny replied, and got himself safely out the door.  
  
So that was all fine, but by the time Patrick got into bed, all he could think was that seven to eight years was a very long time. And meanwhile, if it had just been him wanting Johnny, he would have had to just survive it, but with them both wanting it, he doubted the current truce was going to last that long. Maybe seven to eight months. Or seven to eight weeks. Or maybe just seven to eight days.  
  
***  
  
Maybe they could have actually held out those months, or Captain Serious probably could have. Or at the very least, Patrick  _thought_ they could have lasted through the following week if Johnny hadn’t taken a bad hit the very next game.  
  
Patrick spent about three hours trying not to think about Johnny, and what he had looked and sounded like hitting the ice, about how this couldn’t happen, Johnny couldn’t be taken out like this just as he had finally gotten back, and what if this was as bad as what had happened last season, and he had to concentrate on this stupid game, and then when it was finally over he just wanted to get out of there and get to Johnny and make sure he wasn’t dying.  
  
Then there was the absurdity of going to the hospital and apparently getting there five minutes after Johnny was discharged, which at least was indication he wasn’t at death’s door, and it took twice as long as it should have to get to Johnny’s condo because every fucking light turned red whenever he got in its general vicinity, and all the while his heart was going off the charts, and he thought he was going to be sick, and some part of his head was telling him it ought to be okay, Johnny couldn’t be in that bad a condition, but it wasn’t working, he was still going fucking crazy, and he needed to just fucking see him right the fuck now.  
  
He finally burst into Johnny’s condo yelling his name, and was nearly overcome with relief at just the sound of his voice, his amused, “In here, Kaner,” and there he was, sprawled across his bed, smirking a little, but Patrick still knew he wasn’t right, because he happened to know what Johnny looked like at rest, and his arms weren’t sprawled the right way. In fact, after another second of looking, and remembering the hit, because he’d made the mistake of watching the slowmo replay and it was now burned across his brain, he was able to say, “Your shoulder.”  
  
“Wow, when did you get so smart? Yeah, the doctors want me off the ice for two weeks.”  
  
He was not going to stay off the whole two weeks; Patrick could tell already. But hopefully he wouldn’t do anything actually really foolish, and seeing him so relaxed was allowing his friend to calm. And then, seeing him lounge on those blankets, to be a little flooded with the memories of only a few days ago.  
  
Patrick had attempted, the morning after switching back, to welcome his dick back with a stress-free jerk off session, which had instead turned a little depressing when he had been unable to stop thinking about Johnny the entire time. When that state of affairs hadn’t changed, he’d started doing some research he probably should have done a long time ago, and learned that virtually every modern psychologist with credentials was in agreement that the gendermorph’s transformation cycle had absolutely no effect on their sexual orientation; they were attracted to whoever they’d been attracted to already. There was also a higher rate of bisexuality recorded amoung gendermorphs then amoung the general population. He’d already started to fear he wasn’t going to stop wanting Johnny, and now he knew he wouldn’t.  
  
He found himself wanting to say something, anything, looking at Johnny like this, adrenaline still running through his system. And he was Patrick Kane, which meant he could get away with saying things like, “Hey, if you have trouble jerking off in the meantime, I could lend you a hand?” So he did.  
  
He didn’t expect Johnny’s reaction. Instead of rolling his eyes or saying something sarky back, he somehow managed to recoil into the bed even though his was already flat against it.  
  
And then the anger flared up. “Hey,” he snarled, stepping forward, “you had no trouble with my sucking your damn dick when I had a cunt, now suddenly you’re  _that_  repulsed at my even touching it?” And he knew he shouldn’t, knew why, but he was feeling reckless and he’d just spent a fucking hour trying to find out if Johnny was okay, and damn it, even if Johnny wasn’t attracted to him anymore he could be hell of a lot nicer about it.  
  
“No, that’s not it at all!” Johnny said hastily, but his eyes were terrified.  
  
“Then what,” Patrick demanded, squatting down one knee on the bed, right in his face, “is up with you? All right, fine, you’re not interested any more, I get it.” And he tried to keep his voice from cracking, but it was no use. “That doesn’t mean-oomph!” And then somehow he had Johnny’s tongue in his mouth, and it took him a moment to realize Johnny’s good arm had pulled him down and was now clamping him to Johnny’s body, but he couldn’t think about it because he was being kissed out of his fucking daylights and it felt so fucking good, like it had been but not, because his mouth and tongue were bigger now, and when he pressed his groin down to feel Johnny’s erection, they both gasped into each other’s mouths at the electricity of two cocks meeting.  
  
“Shit,” gasped Johnny as they came up for air, and Patrick knew he was going to protest, because he ought to, because there were things, like gendermorphing, that were accepted in the modern day NHL(though no doubt Gretzy went through hell in his time), and then there were things that were another matter entirely. So he stopped him by grinding down his thigh in a way he knew would drive Johnny crazy, and whispering, “Or all of a sudden you do want me?”  
  
“Fuck, Pat,” Johnny moaned, “I wanted you before you grew breasts. Your having them just made it easier to admit.”  
  
“Oh,” that made Patrick freeze stupid for a moment. “Good,” he finally managed, and dove back into Johnny’s mouth.  
  
“Not so good,” Johnny had to point out, pushing him away half-heartedly, but one look in his eyes and Patrick knew he had him.  
  
“I know what the problems are,” he said, “but you know the dressing room isn’t going to be looking at me the same way anymore anyway, and please, no one has to even know about this, do they?” He started pressing kisses across his face, going for the sensitive area near his ear, attacking it with his tongue, and while Johnny was whimpering, whispering, “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about what it was like, you haven’t jerked off to the memory of my mouth on your dick-I could do that again for you right now if you wanted...”  
  
And that was it; Johnny’s hands were pulling his coat open, then at his slacks, eager to get acquainted with this new version of Patrick, while Patrick’s own now roamed freely over the body he already knew, and was looking forward to having as very constant, thank you very much, for as long as possible.


End file.
